


Indefinite Correlation

by StoriesWhispered



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, I Don't Even Know, Wells Jaha Lives, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:38:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6418351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StoriesWhispered/pseuds/StoriesWhispered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke had no idea how it had gotten to this point, honestly they weren't even friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Indefinite Correlation

Clarke had no idea how it had gotten to this point, honestly they weren't even friends. 

It started, like all her troubles, in the groups weekly get together. Monty had shown up at her apartment with an impressive amount of liquor- all for her, she was assured- since the celebrations were for her impending Arks Artist Showcase, where she had gotten entire room in the three-room gallery. 

As required by the gallery, she had lived in her showpiece room for the last two months with the other artist; a tall, tattooed and extremely fit Lincoln, who seemed to favor natural mediums (she had heard of lot of metal and wood pieces bending and twice seen him with a blowtorch) and Maya Vie, a small but strong artist, who preferred oil painting with dark visceral images (Clarke had gone on two coffee dates with her and was truly excited to see her complete showcase.) 

A week before the opening, she was allowed to go back to her apartment in preparation of the galleries staff inspection and promotion of the new showcases. She had come back to an empty apartment exhausted and frankly glad to back into a space she shared with no one. Of course, it was during her executive decision to sleep for the next week until it was absolutely necessary for her to get up for the opening; her front door was slammed open by overexcited Monty, (who had been apartment sitting for her) and ruined her plans. 

Before she could find a polite way to tell him to please go away and let no one know she was back, he was already blabbering on how he had seen her in the hallway and called _all_ their friends for a celebrations before he thought about helping her with her bags and now he was here with gifts. Her gifts were alcohol, like most things were related to Monty, but had also given her a key chain, obviously handcrafted, that read **“Ark’s Greatest Artist”** in a copper setting. 

She smiled, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten, “Thanks Monty.”

He smiled shyly back, “You okay, Clarke?”

“Fine, just a little tired.” She fought to keep the exhaustion off her face, because even if Monty did realized exactly how much she wanted to sleep, he had already made calls and there was no stopping her friends once they heard about the alcohol. 

She was right, before she knew it half her friends were banging at her door and talking her ear off on what she had missed.  
“Raven, it’s part of the contract-” Clarke hated repeating herself and the mandatory sleeping arrangement of the art gallery was non-negotiable. 

“Nurturing freedom and creative process, blah blah, Griffin, you’ve missed our last eight congregations.” Clarke laughed, only Raven would call their weekly binge drinking get togethers’ a _congregation._

“I detoxed-” Wells snorted at this and Clarke turned to him with eyebrows raised, “I di-”

The rest of her very valid argument was thrown out the window by her favorite little tornado, Octavia. The tiny brunette was emitting a pitch that would have sent dogs running and a pace that even after years of knowing her Clarke could not keep up with. 

But she got the gist, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were coming back, I had cake and decorations” (her hands were filled with too many bags). “I missed you so much, I can’t believe you left me with so much testosterone” (there was an uneven ratio of men to women but Raven and Emori still had estrogen as far as she knew). Finally, something along the lines “Don’t ever do that again, I can’t believe you did it! Have you started drinking without me.” 

Clarke was smiling down at her cup- that had light beer, she hadn’t been kidding about the detox- wondering how she survived without Octavia for the last two months. 

“I missed you too, O.” Octavia took that as her cue to push all her bags into Bellamy -who, as always, was standing right behind Octavia- and crash into her into a unsurprisingly strong hug. 

“I like to breath on occasion,” she (mostly) faked wheezed but it was worth it for Octavia. 

She looked around her tiny apartment and beamed because she did miss this; she missed them terribly. Jasper and Monty, plugging in their X-Box into her TV, Bellamy and Miller pulling out decorations from the bags, Raven and Octavia had taken over the kitchen and finally, last to arrive Murphy, arms laden with pizza. She meant to ask Murphy then, where Emori was but there was a mad dash for the pizza distracted her and before she could bring it up again she was bullied into recounting her story of the art gallery. 

  


****************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  


Murphy had gotten spectacular drunk- a feat she once thought impossible, the boy could hold his whiskey- apparently tequila was his weakness. 

Drunk Murphy was of course a sight to behold- there might or might not be pictures of some his indiscretions- dancing, serenading Raven's leg, a spectacular kiss to a shocked Bellamy (her current phone's background). It had been great, Monty and Jasper created a convoluted five-step handshake for Murphy and his great inspiration, Bellamy was brooding with Miller, while Wells and Raven made kissy faces at the pair every other minute. 

Clarke felt the stress of the opening fading away, pleasantly buzzed she confessed to Raven that her showcase was not ready. There was a missing piece, she hadn’t finished, it wasn’t large but it was obviously missing.

“I think I needed this, to inspire me.” Raven patted her knee, affection clear on her face, “We love you too, Griffin.” 

It was getting late and her friends were recalling their fierce love of her apartment and how they had missed having their nights there. She wore a soft smile as she remembered the shenanigans her friends had caused in her apartment that was conveniently located near a strip of take-out restaurants and three bars. Clarke was relaxed, confident that she could just lean into her couch and sleep when she felt goosebumps race across her arms and instinctively reached for the Class D fire extinguisher she kept hidden underneath the coffee table; wondering how everything got out of hand in _her_ apartment. 

She looked around for the source of her discomfort, crystal clear eyes scanning each person for the problem. Her brows furrowed when she didn't see anything wrong but she was hardly ever wr- oh, she counted the kids sprawled around her living and it finally clicked, Murphy was missing. 

She searched again but it was clear he was not there, maybe he was in the bathroom but something told her that wasn't it. She stood up, gracefully, the adrenaline chasing away her sleepy state and made her way towards the hallway. After checking the bathroom, just in case, she found him in her bedroom, sitting crossed legged and staring at his phone morosely.

“Hey,” she called out cautiously, curious for an answer on why exactly he was in her room. It wasn’t exactly off limits, and more than once used for a private conversation (and on one occasion a drunken night between Bellamy and Raven that no one ever spoke about) but it was still odd. 

He was still drunk, that much she could tell, but a less happy “watch my killer dance moves” and more “we’re all going to die, our lives are meaningless” kind of drunk. Frankly, it was new to her, Murphy never showed this much of himself to her. They were sort of friends, friendlier since Emori had come into the picture and loosened him up, he almost smiled at her on occasion. 

Clarke, sat across from him, careful not to get to get too close, she had seen him angry and he tended to lash out but she was already here and didn’t think Bellamy would do much better in this situation than her. 

“You want to talk about it or sleep?” He looked up then, seemingly grateful, smaller in his relief. For some reason it made Clarke heavy-hearted, something in her face must have shown because his face flickered and twisted and before she could even comprehend what was happening he was in her lap, arms clinging to her neck. 

He reeked of cheap tequila and lime, but underneath there was a musky scent, like maybe he hadn’t showered in a few days(it was different). Her arms came up automatically, rubbing soothing circles on his back, worry was etched along her face but it was clear he was exceptionally drunk, he couldn’t see and probably wouldn’t remember.

It was felt like forever before he finally pulled away, he chest shaking in an effort to hold back his sobs, but his eyes were the same clear green, no trace of tears. Instead of speaking, he shoved his phone into her hands, stood up and stumbled into her bed, muttering a dark “thanks” before closing his eyes. 

Eyebrows high, she stared down at the phone, it was unlocked and opened to Murphy’s messages. Emori. The thread was one small paragraph from her, she had broken up with him, something about her moving soon, closer to her brother and this being one less thing. The rest were from Murphy, confused, desperate, angry. The last message, time stamped earlier this day was from her; **stop calling John.**

Clarke stopped reading, closed his phone and placed it on her nightstand, looking down at him. She sighed and started to unlace his boots, once off she nudged him under the covers, he grumbled but made it there without much hassle, tugging off his jacket and handing it to her. She carded her hand through his hair, once, twice, like the mother hen she was before walking back to the living room. 

Her friends had already disappeared, it seem like they thought she had gone to sleep and had made themselves scarce, a note in Monty’s handwriting was tacked into her fridge. Her earlier exhaustion crashed into her and before she could even think about the last twenty minutes; she laid on her couch, pulling Murphy’s jacket over her frame, like a blanket, she fell into a dreamless sleep in seconds. 

  


  


****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  


  


That night was talked and teased about for the whole week leading up to her exhibit. Monty promising to bring home-brewed tequila- he had bought agave from Mexico, Clarke, it's going to be great- was more alarming than it was exciting. 

But she had more things to be worried about, Murphy had left before she had woken up and cleaned up some of the mess left by her friends, taking his jacket but replacing it with her bedroom sheets. She didn’t reach out to him because he was angry guy who had been lumped into her group of friends, while the two of them had never been in direct conflict (his horrible taste in music excluded) they just weren’t close. He seemed to agree since she hadn’t heard from him since, Clarke figured it be one of those things they’d never talk about (like the whole Raven, Bellamy thing). 

Instead of thinking of the weird moment between her and Murphy and she concentrated on finishing her last small piece. The collections main pieces were already in storage, she had gone over placement, flow of the room and how it tied in with the other artist works as a whole. She had been told, quite sternly, that her last piece had to be in the gallery by five on the day of the opening or it would not be part of the showcase.

Which is why it was currently nineteen hours before her deadline and she was considering setting fire to her apartment. The collection could technically be called complete, it didn’t _need_ this piece but there was a blank space in her mind, (incomplete, incomplete, incomplete!). Half her sketchbook was dedicated to this blank canvas but nothing seemed to fit. Finally when she was close to chunking the blank canvas out the window, there was a knock on her door. 

  


  


"Hey princess, have you seen my knife?" 

  


  


  


"What the fuck Murphy," she said without looking up at her stupid blank canvas. 

  


  


"Open the door," just as she was going to say no, her door swung open, the spare key she kept above her door dangling in his hand. 

  


  


"I can't find my Swiss army." 

  


  


Clarke, who had finally stopped trying to burn her canvas by sheer force of will, looked up at him and was about to retort that she hadn't seen it but stopped. Because that was a lie, she had seen it, her eyebrows furrowed, and stood up stretching out the kinks in her legs. 

  


  


"Hold on, I think-" she cut herself off and made her way to her bedroom. "-yeah," she called as she found it on her nightstand. 

  


  


“I almost lost a toe to that thing." 

  


  


  


He was blushing, "sorry Clarke," she smiled, he rarely called her anything but princess or Griffin, it was a nice distraction. 

  


  


"No thanks, I needed to stop looking at that stupid canvas" He didn't exactly smile, but it was a lot less of a smirk. 

  


  


"Paint thinner finally getting to you?" 

  


  


"I wish, maybe high I get this thing done" 

  


  


He chuckled, "I'm sure it will be fine, Raven says tomorrow is going to be awesome." 

  


  


"You're coming?" She didn't mean to sound so hopeful, it's just he had never come to her shows before, he had only RSVP to this one because of Emori. 

  


  


"Yeah, I said I'd go." She beamed because, she was nervous and just because they weren't exactly friends didn't mean she wasn't ready to take support when she saw it. 

  


  


"Well then, I better really get this done." And there it was again that not quite smile, "I'll bring the best paint thinner for after." She chuckled, "deal," they were already at the door- "so why is this knife so important anyway." 

  


  


His eyes were a bit more guarded but he answered anyway. "It was my dads." And then he was gone. 

  


  


*********************************************************************************************************************************************************************

  


  


So here she was. The next night, at her art gallery opening showcase. Was she possibly mingling with potential buyers? No, that was Maya, who had sold four of her pieces already. She was nervously drinking champagne with Lincoln -and Octavia, who seem to be trying to send code messages with looks and occasional pinches- as she stared at John Fucking Murphy and Emori from across the room. She excused herself, ignoring Octavia’s pointed glare (oh, she was not looking forward to that conversation) and made her way over before she could really think of why she shouldn’t (it was a really long list). 

Before she could even think about the consequences, her arms were around his waist. 

  


"Jonathan, there you are," her lips were on his cheek, " I wanted to show you the final installment." She turned to look at Emori who was too busy glaring at her to notice Murphy’s shocked face. 

  


"Hey Emori, I hope you liked the collection-” before she could respond, Clarke tugged on his leather jacket, "you don't mind if I borrow him do you, he was so helpful with this last piece you know." And finally Murphy seemed to get with the program and let himself get dragged away. 

  


He didn't even think to look back and by the time he did, the crowd had swallowed his ex up. 

  


"Thanks," he muttered. 

  


"It looks like you needed a save." He looked so uncomfortable at that moment, like he did when he had to apologize Jasper for punching him in the face (another fond memory that had happened in her apartment). 

  


"So you wanna see what you inspired." He nodded jerkily and she led him the last piece in her collection, it wasn't him, not exactly, but he recognized himself pretty quickly. 

  


The paint wasn't even dry as his breath ghosted over the dark lines, angry reds and soft blues. 

  


"You know I can't dance right." 

  


"I have pictures that prove it." 

  


"I thought we agreed never to bring that night up." 

  


“Monty bought agave from _Mexico_ to make tequila.” He blanched and his mouth parted in horror, she grinned. 

  


“You know, you speechless is pretty great, let’s continue that theme,” she pulled out her phone and showed him her background. 

  


He surprised her then by full out grinning at her, it was breathtaking but mostly terrifying. 

  


“Jealous,” he practically sing songed and she noticed how close they were. 

  


“You wish,” she scoffed but took a step back. 

  


“I don’t know, you just chased my ex away, sounds like you got a crush on me Griffin,” he was really smiling her, it was making hard to think. 

  


She yelped, as his hands reached out and she twisted away quickly. He laughed and inclined his head, an implied head start; she threw her head back and laughed and started backing away slowly. 

  


Clarke was in Maya’s exhibit, (it was fantastic, she appreciated the artistic integrity, a lot) which was conveniently closest to the exit and kicked off her heels when she saw Raven and dove behind Wells. 

  


"Hi." 

  


"Great show!" 

  


"Thanks." 

  


"Are you hiding from Murphy." 

  


"What, no, why is he coming" 

  


"I'm already here princess." Before she could respond, she was trapped in his arms. 

  


"Noooo,- she pulled her phone from her bra and threw it at Raven, who caught out of reflex- "guard it with your life." 

  


Raven looked down at the phone and back up again, nodding solemnly but did nothing to stop Murphy from carrying her away. 

  


“Do you have any idea what just happened?” Clarke heard Wells ask, but she was too far away to hear Raven’s response. 

  


“What about my shoes?” 

  


“M’lady’s feet must not touch the ground.” They were out of gallery at this point, edging towards the parking lot. 

  


“Murph-” he placed her down on top of his boots, effectively cutting her off. 

  


“You called me Jonathan in there.” 

  


It wasn’t a question but it deserved an explanation, she really didn’t have one. 

  


"So where we going Johnathan?” He smirked but there was something in his eye that made her feel giddy. 

  


“That’s would ruin the surprise now wouldn’t it,” he spun them around once before bending slightly to carry her bridal style. 

  


And really, she did like surprises. 

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I have no idea how I got here. It's a blur, one moment I was at work the next I had written 1000 words. But you know Clarphy! Friendship/Romance, I am here for it. Honestly, I ship Bellarke but this season was really getting me down so I wrote this piece of fluff. Maybe I'll write more?!


End file.
